


at the mercy of your loving

by milfjuno



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Nonbinary Juno Steel, Oral Sex, Other, PIV, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Some Begging, Trans Peter Nureyev, but also sex, lots of hickeys, romantic sex, vague posessive/dom/sub content?, what else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 01:28:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21329992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milfjuno/pseuds/milfjuno
Summary: Juno bites his lip and nods softly, like he’s deciding on something. “I want to try it.”“Pardon?”“I want to be good to you,” Juno lifts his hands to cup my face, leaning in to kiss me slowly. “I want you to—to know how it feels to be loved like that,” he kisses me again.OR: Peter is good at taking Juno to pieces, and Juno figures it's about time he returned the favour.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 30
Kudos: 318





	1. The Sex (TM)

**Author's Note:**

> my main is @onetiredboy so come read all the non-explicit jupeter shit i have kjsfjk and comment if you enjoyed :-)
> 
> Peter is trans in this fic! He receives oral sex & penetrative sex, and he's comfortable with it, but if you are not then don't feel obliged to read! Also, I got too impatient to write the good shit to waste words on discussing protection, but you can assume Juno has a condom if you want, otherwise just assume Peter isn't in any danger of being pregnant and in space nobody can give you STDs. I hope you'll understand that I had other things on my mind ;P. 
> 
> OK I think that's all the CW details I need to give, if I missed out on anything LMK.

I have a very particular night time routine.

A thief has to, if he wants to stay at the top of his game. Perhaps more relevantly, a man has to, if he wants to stay at the peak of his youth. A little healthy vanity can only be a good thing.

And anyway, it’s worth it: keeping one’s skin clear is akin to keeping their mind likewise, and when you need your wits sharp a simple tip is to keep the wings of your eyeliner even sharper.

(A note for the more that way inclined: soft hands can be useful in more ways than one, and a shelf of lotions may seem excessive for only ten fingers, but it seems more like the bare minimum after you’ve seen the jewels you’ve stolen dripping off of them, and especially after you’ve watched someone fall to pieces over them, their back arching in soft blue light and their broken voice smoothed over with praises of what your fingers alone can do.)

Juno is not so easily convinced. I’ve convinced him as far as to talk him into drinking champagne in the bath with me every night, or at least have him sit beside the bath and drink champagne with me while I enjoy the bubbles, and let him have access to whichever of my facemasks he chooses on the nights he is feeling more open to the idea. But he takes his comfort from warmth and stability in the same way I take mine from shedding off old skin. To use a familiar metaphor, if we were to represent ourselves as rose bushes his would be thick and leafy, a comfort in the many small red buds nestled away within. Mine would be endlessly pruned; the bare minimum of leaves but _oh_, the beauty of the flower perched on top.

“Writing poetry in your head again?”

I glance over at my boyfriend, giving him as sharp a glare as I can manage while smiling at him, “Only if you’re writing a soliloquy in yours.”

Juno walks over to me, his hands batting mine gently out of the way to take over. I had been in the middle of unbuttoning my shirt: his fingers do the rest and then come to rest on my waist.

“You look pretty when you’re lost in thought,” Juno mutters, and when he looks up to meet my eyes, I kiss him.

I had something to say to him, but when he breaks away from me he’s stolen all the words from my tongue – and here I am, supposed to be the thief – and all I can say is, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he kisses me again, and then again, his hands reaching up to frame either side of my face. He can be so gentle. I love him like this. I love him rough, too, I love him when he makes rude remarks and forgets all his manners and puts on that bravado for everybody else – but how lucky I am, to have this secret tenderness.

“You’re still thinking,” Juno mutters when he pulls away from me, and I give him a guilty smile.

“About you, my love.”

“That’s even worse. I’m right here.”

I laugh softly. “I’m sorry.”

Juno’s fingers tangle in the hair around the nape of my neck, “You could make it up to me, sweetheart.”

The word sounds so unfamiliar in his mouth still: a practised, conscious declaration of his affection. There’s embarrassed-smile kind of look on his face, like he’s still not sure if it makes him sound stupid. It doesn’t. It makes me feel like I’m falling every time.

“Is that so?”

I kiss him again, getting one hand on the side of his face. He coaxes my mouth open and I try not to smile as he traces the curve of one of my pointed canines with his tongue. He’s always been fond of those, and I haven’t had the heart to tell him I got them as the result of a lost bet when I was first starting out, that I’d hated them ever since then until he came along.

But soon there’s no space in my head for anecdotes. He kisses me fervently, deep and ravenous – and yet all the time he groans into my mouth like I’m the one kissing him like that. He breaks from me and his lips are wet and shining and all I can think is _Juno, Juno, Juno. _I kiss him again. He’s already only in his boxers and he gets his fingers into the loops of my pants, not yet discarded, and he tugs me in against him.

Juno’s mouth presses against the corner of mine, and then trails down my neck. At first it’s as disorganized as he rest of this has been, as it usually is. Then his kisses begin to slow. After a moment, he’s just breathing softly against my neck.

“Peter?” he asks.

“Juno.”

He turns his head up to kiss the bottom of my jaw, “I want to try something different.”

I raise an eyebrow. He’s never requested something directly before. Usually it’s in half-breaths and near incoherent – there’s been some light bondage, a couple different kinds of talking that I went along with despite having mixed feelings about the way Juno likes to be talked to. “What… is it?”

“I…” Juno sighs. He leans back from me a little. He goes to say something, stops himself. He’s blushing. “Maybe it’s stu—”

“What is it?” I ask him. I kiss him softly, “Anything. Anything you want, my love.”

Juno leans his head against my collarbone. “Every time we do this, you always… You treat me so well. You fuck me like I’m the best thing you’ve ever had. I—” he laughs and looks up at me, “It’s a lot, sometimes. To get used to.”

I blink at him, “I’m… sorry. I hadn’t realised I was overwhelming you.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “No. It’s good. It’s very good, Peter, it’s—” he breaks himself off. Then he bites his lip and nods softly, like he’s deciding on something. “I want to try it.”

“Pardon?”

“I want to be good to you,” Juno lifts his hands to cup my face, leaning in to kiss me slowly. “I want you to—to know how it feels to be loved like that,” he kisses me again.

Ever since the moment we met, Juno Steel has found new ways to surprise me. It’s almost a familiar feeling: the breathlessness in my lungs, a cool chasm that is filled suddenly with an affectionate warmth. He breaks from me and I laugh.

“I thought you were going to ask me to choke you.”

He laughs, strong and beautiful, “Well, if that’s what you’d prefer—”

“No,” I say to him firmly. I kiss him quickly on the lips, “Show me how I make you feel,” I ask him. “I want to know.”

He nods and spins me around, walking me to the bed. His fingers unclasp the button of my pants before we get there and they fall to the floor, quite useless. If I have something to say about the artlessness of the performance, it’s knocked out of me when Juno lays me down on the bed like a stolen masterpiece.

He leans down to kiss me, and I feel all the tension in me melt out of my limbs and into the sheets beneath me. It is chaste, but no less passionate for it. He breaks from me and smiles for a moment, and then before I have a chance to get a word in he kisses me again.

This one… is not so chaste.

His tongue sweet-talks a groan from my throat, and my fingers ache to touch him. I want to spin us both over, show him just how much I appreciate his love by showing him just what my mouth can do to him in return—but I don’t. I tangle my itching fingers into his hair and pull him as close to me as I can and kiss him back, and I let Juno do the work.

Juno’s hand brushes up my thigh; warm, rough skin against mine, and he breaks from my mouth to kiss my neck again. It’s pins and needles all over, and my breath comes out of me in an unnaturally rough pant, “Juno—”

“Mm,” he agrees. He bites down on my neck and for a moment that’s all I can concentrate on, until his fingertips brush an electric stripe along the line of my briefs and I feel a deep part of me twitch in anticipation.

Then his fingers begin brushing back down my thigh again. He kisses a few more marks into the side of my neck, travels down to my collarbone and just begins… layering kisses there, against the skin. My chest heaves with breath and he puts the hand not on my thigh on it, glancing up at me.

His lips curl into a smile against my chest, “Careful, Nureyev,” he mutters, “You almost lost your composure, there.”

I tip my head back and laugh breathlessly. He’s right; my head is still swimming and I haven’t felt that much that fast in… ever, maybe. I reach up with one hand to touch the places on my neck that I know are covered in bruises. I can cover them easily enough with makeup.

But perhaps I won’t, I muse to myself, perhaps I’ll leave them like a mark of possession, and the thought makes me shiver. Peter Nureyev has never belonged to anybody before.

“You doing okay up there?” Juno mutters, and he reaches a hand up to tangle with my other one while his lips trail across my chest.

“More than, my love,” I mumble to him, my own voice sounding strangely subdued, and his hand runs up my thigh again, brushing just barely over the cloth between my legs, already damp, and my breath catches, “Oh—”

Juno breathes out shakily against my chest and his fingers disappear again, leaving me hot and heady and _wanting. _He bites a mark into my ribs that I note will be visible if I keep my shirt open tomorrow, and then he mumbles, “Is this okay?”

It surprises me. I blink down at him and laugh softly, “Okay? Juno—” I drop my head back against the pillow and laugh, “The only thing not okay about it is how painfully slow you’re being—I’m a patient man, but you push my limits.”

“Mm, and yet…” Juno sighs. His fingers trace between my legs again and I can’t stop the breathy little sound I make, “You seem to do this very same thing to me all the time…”

I laugh, and then cut myself off as his fingers return, “Well,” I attempt to keep my voice composed, “My dear. That would be because it’s always so nice to hear you beg.”

Juno’s lips graze over my thigh, and he bites a mark into the soft skin there. “Oh?” he asks, his voice light and innocent despite the grin I can feel against my leg, “Is it, just?”

I close my mouth and swallow hard.

“Peter?” Juno leans down and presses a kiss right to the line of my briefs. His stubble itches, but the feeling is far from unpleasant, “Is there something you’d like to say to me?”

I swallow again, my throat thick. His words seem to settle deep in my stomach and stir something within me. I don’t know what to say, what I want to say – Peter Nureyev does not beg for anything.

I think I hear Juno say something like, “Maybe you need a little bit of encouragement.” But perhaps I imagine it – his breath is hot over me in a way that sends tingling right up my spine – and then his tongue presses into me through my underwear and the most untidy sound I have ever made is torn from my throat.

“Oh—Juno—” I hear myself groan, and when the heat of his mouth retreats my hips roll without my quite being conscious of it, searching for the contact.

I might hear myself say the word please. I might hear myself say it again and again, too hoarse and quiet for Juno to hear originally – but if I did, I would never admit it.

All that matters is that soon enough his fingers make my underwear suitably useless and his hands run up my thighs. He slows for just a moment, pressing a kiss to one of my hipbones.

Through it all, I manage to grin up at the ceiling, one of my hands reaching down to pet his hair, “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Juno kisses my hipbone again, then leaves a mark there. “Now let me show you how much.”

When Juno gets to work, I surpass noises altogether. My head tips back with a low groan, my mouth falling open, my hand tangling in his hair. I hang in suspense like that for a long moment, my body hit by torrents of sensation. He helps one of my legs over his shoulder and it kicks my lungs and voice box back into gear.

“Oh,” I settle my eyes shut and roll my hips slowly into his mouth. He moves with the movement, keeping his tongue on me, and I frown in concentration for a moment before the sensation melts the expression from my face.

It’s exquisite. My breath shudders out of me and my other leg wraps around his other shoulder and Juno moans into me, one of his hands reaching up desperately, as if searching for some part of me to hold on to, so I give him my hand.

His tongue moves just so and a gasp is punched out of me. There’s something about that particular rhythm that gets me. I feel my back arch, and I say his name like the prayer it is, “Juno, _Juno,_ _Juno_.”

He slows. Doesn’t stop, but slows, suspending me over the crescendo. My hips roll and I feel my thighs tremble on his shoulders, squeeze his hand tightly, “Juno…” drawn out longer, “Oh, my love…”

His tongue presses deep, insistent against me and I cry out. I whisk my fingers from his to slap my hand to my mouth but the sound has already been made, and then I am shuddering, shuddering, my thighs might be squeezing his head but I am gasping for air and ignorant to anybody else’s needs but mine in this moment.

When I relax, I am drenched in sweat. Juno is lying lazily between my legs, pressing kisses into my thighs. When he sees me looking at him, he grins.

“Not bad for a lady who hasn’t done that in a while, huh?”

“Not bad,” I agree breathlessly.

“Now you know what it’s like,” he leans up and kisses me hungrily. I wonder idly if I can taste myself in his mouth before he breaks, “Every time you do that to me.”

“If that’s true, I feel you’ve rather been getting the better end of the bargain.”

He grins and kisses me again, and again, and it becomes clear he’s not done with me. I’m not quite as young and full of stamina as I used to be, but… tonight has been the exception to a lot of my rules.

I’m not sure if he’s consciously doing it, but there’s also the fact that every time he kisses me he grinds his hips into me, having had his own needs ignored, and I would be lying if I said it wasn’t a persuasive sensation.

I grab his hand from where it is cupping the side of my face and move it downwards, back towards the dip between my legs. Juno breaks from kissing me and looks me seriously in the eyes. “Peter. Only what you want.”

I smile at him, “You, Juno. Only you. Always you. _All_,” I lean up and kiss him softly, “Of you.”

He laughs breathlessly, “I thought I was supposed to be being the romantic one, tonight?”

“You’ll have to forgive me, my love, it’s in my nature.”

“Well, it’s in my nature to be impatient,” Juno murmurs against my skin, and then slips a finger inside of me.

It’s—an unfamiliar sensation. Not a new one, no, but one I haven’t been accustomed to in a while. Juno’s eye on me is stable, trying to gauge my reaction, measure my discomfort. After a moment, he adds a second finger and I groan softly, shifting on the mattress.

He adds a third at some point; it takes an embarrassingly little amount of time before he unravels me again, leaving me loose-limbed and sighing softly, and kissing him the whole time. He’s gentle about it, stringing me out until my whole body feels warm all over and buzzed with pleasure, like I could drown in it. It’s only when I feel myself start to climb again – a familiar tension in the back of my stomach, that I mutter, “Juno. I want you.”

He breathes in sharply against me, “Are you—”

“Yes,” I promise him. “Please,” I add. I tell myself it is not begging; simply persuading – performance, if you will, to get what I want (and I am very good at that).

The persuasion works, at least. Juno removes his fingers from me and I lie still, listening to my heart beating in my chest as he works his boxers down and discards them. The cold of his missing heat is torture. When he returns, I fist my fingers into his hair and pull him into a dirty kiss.

He groans, one hand beside our heads so he can stabilise himself, the other disappearing down between us. “Nureyev,” he says, desperately, into my mouth, “_Peter_.”

When he slides into me, my head tips back and I moan. He kisses more marks into my neck and shudders. Then he begins to rock his hips.

He begins to build the pace, his breath coming hard and fast into my shoulder, and I don’t think either of us are going to last particularly long. That doesn’t bother me very much at all. I wrap one leg around his hips, adjust myself a little until he hits just the right spot and I close my eyes, “Oh—yes.”

I run my fingers through his hair and bring him into a kiss, open-mouthed and messy and enough to make my head spin. His thrusts into me become longer, harder, until he’s barely pulling out anymore and I know he’s concentrating on trying not to come.

I can’t help but let the corner of my mouth quirk into a smile. I want to ruin his concentration.

I pull away from Juno and let my head fall back, let my voice become naturally low and rough – long ago I memorised what words brought Juno to the edge fastest, and I plan on using them all now – “Oh, _Juno. _You’re such a good girl to me,” I tell him, and he moans into me.

“My goddess, my beautiful Juno, it feels so perfect, Juno, so good—"

“Peter,” he says, and it’s disappointingly less desperate than I expected, but no less tinged with impatience, “Let me talk.”

I blink, surprised. Then I breathe out shakily, “The floor’s yours, my dear.”

He kisses me, pulling almost all the way out again slowly as if only to hear the wrecked sound I make when he moves back in. One of his hands slides down between us and I’m overwhelmed with the sensation of him touching me while he fucks me. I whine softly every time his hips rock back to mine.

He kisses my cheek and hesitates for a moment, like he isn’t quite sure what to say, and I want to tell him it’s alright, he doesn’t have to talk if he doesn’t want to, but well—I’m fairly incoherent at this point, and he begins to talk anyway.

“I love you,” he mutters, “I love you more than anything. You make me feel like nobody else ever has, you’re the most important person in my life.”

It’s—not what I was expecting. Far too tender, too romantic, and I feel my heart swell in my chest. “Juno…”

“Peter,” he kisses my jaw, “My Peter Nureyev,” – and there, again, the unfamiliar desire to hear him say that again, to be _his, _to belong to him completely and never have to worry about being alone ever again – “I want to marry you one day.”

I open my mouth to respond to that, but Juno has clearly decided there’s been enough talking for one day, because he begins fucking me hard enough that the bed shakes, and all other thoughts are wiped from my mind.

“_Oh_, Juno, Juno,” I gasp out, my hands tangling in my own hair restlessly.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and kisses me.

I feel that tension building in my stomach again. It’s liquid heat and electrifying and addicting, and I feel myself give in to it. “Oh, my God,” I breathe, tipping my head back and closing my eyes, “Oh—”

Juno kisses my jaw, kisses up to my ear, and mumbles, “That’s it, Peter, come on. Come for me, sweetheart.”

And, well. I don’t really have much of a choice.

My body seizes up. I tremble, sounds leaving me that I wasn’t even sure I could make before this – somewhere in it: Juno’s name, a collection of uncouth language, a few incoherent noises – and I feel my whole body throb around him.

“Oh—_fuck_,” Juno groans, and then his hips stutter against mine and he comes, groaning into my shoulder.

The haziness begins to retreat from my mind and the first thing I notice when my brain switches back on is myself breathing, long and ragged. I can feel my pulse racing in my neck. _I want to marry you one day._

Juno isn’t much more composed – his hair is in all directions and there’s sweat on his brow and his pupils are blown. He manages a weak smile at me and then leans on my chest. “Huh,” he says, and his voice breaks.

“’Huh’, indeed,” I run my fingers through his hair. In a moment this position will be uncomfortable – him collapsed over me, still inside of me, but for now we just breathe.

Then my ribs begin to ache. “My love—” I start, and he leans up.

“Right, sorry,” he pulls out and rolls over on the bed beside me.

My hand finds his in the blankets. _I want to marry you one day_.

Marriage wasn’t something I had honestly even considered. Well—that’s a lie, I had considered it quite a lot initially, in the same lovesick way a teenager might practise writing the name they dream of taking at the altar in their notebook. After I heard the story of Juno’s last marriage, however, about what had happened to him the last time he trusted a person like that, I had neatly tucked the idea away. There were forms of devotion much stronger than marriage, after all, and I would be happy with whatever Juno gave me.

_I want to marry you one day._

I look over at him. I don’t quite have the words to shape the feeling in my chest; I am not sure the words exist.

When I meet his eyes, though, he smiles at me, a genuine, loving smile, and reaches his arms out for me, and I realise that he already knows. Feels the same way, even, maybe: a little bit of awe, and hope, and trust, and love so deep it can’t be named.

I roll over and slot my body against his, one leg between his and my face on his shoulder. I’m longer than him and sharp in places, but if it’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t complain.

“Thank you,” I whisper to him, and Juno’s hand brushes over the small of my back.

“I love you,” he says to me, and I smile.

“I know,” I say, “I love you too.”

He falls asleep first. He usually does these days: it’s an awful, guilty habit of mine to make sure he falls asleep first, just in case. I don’t think he knows, and I hope he never finds out. I don’t want him to think I still think about that. Once he’s asleep, I lean up to press a kiss to his cheek and then nestle into him, and I let myself begin to fall away.

And if I dream of a marriage taking place on a spaceship among the stars, he doesn’t need to know.


	2. The Epilogue

When I wake up, the first thing on my mind is the first thing that’s always on my mind: I’m in space!

The next things on my mind happen in this order: what’s for breakfast; we’re in space; where’s Mister Steel; space is awesome; what will I get to teach Jet today about streams/makeup/the best kind of snacks; space is so cool!

I’m in my favourite space pyjamas and this morning I decide I ain’t even gonna get out of them before breakfast. Yesterday was a long, hard day of me havin’ to help Buddy and Vespa improve the ship’s computer and today I plan to make up for it by not movin’ more than the distance between my quarters, the kitchen, and the common room.

Speakin’ of which, there’s hot chocolate with my name on it waiting for me, and so I open the doors to my room and make my way to the kitchen.

When I get there there’s Mister Juno’s-Boyfriend, and I have to look twice at him.

He’s done all his makeup even nicer than usual – it’s the kinda look to make a girl jealous, I tell you, perfect bright red lips and eyeshadow on his eyes, givin’ him this sweet, innocent look. He’s got a shirt on that might actually be _real _silk, not that there’s much of it because it’s open almost all the way down to where it tucks in to his pants. He’s scrolling through his comms casually, his glasses right on the end of his nose. His earrings are little diamond teardrops on the end of silver chains, but all of that ain’t even what I’m lookin’ at.

He looks like his neck got into a fist fight with a space-bear. There are bruises all over him, and if there wasn’t no other option on this ship I wouldn’t even possibly believe it was Juno who did that to him.

He glances up at me, and smiles. There’s a satisfied kinda look in his eyes that makes it fairly clear it was Juno who did that to him, “Oh! Good morning, Miss Rita,” he hums, “I like your pyjamas.”

“…Yeah,” I say to him. I could say somethin’, but I decide I really don’t want to hear any details and Mistah Nameless seems like exactly the kinda guy who would give me too many of them at the slightest chance.

“Are you after a hot chocolate? Allow me to make one for you,” he stands up from the bench and I realise there are two or three bruises on his chest and stomach, too, and it’s all I can do not to gawk at him. His pants are tight but at least they go all the way down to where his heeled boots begin, cause if there are bruises in any more places I sure as hell don’t wanna see ‘em.

“Here you go, my dear,” he passes me a mug of steaming hot chocolate and I eye him suspiciously.

“Thank you,” I walk back around to the other side of the kitchen bench and pull myself onto a chair, dangling my legs as I take a sip. “Long night with Mistah Steel last night, huh?” I ask.

He goes a shade redder and shrugs one shoulder non-committally, as if he ain’t basically putting himself on display for everybody to notice. It should be illegal, rubbin’ it in a single girl’s face like that.

The door into the kitchen opens and I hear a familiar flat-footed footstep and grumble that makes me roll my eyes into my hot chocolate. I don’t even wanna see what Mistah Steel looks like.

“Good morning, Rita,” he walks straight to the coffee machine without even lookin’ at either of us, and starts making his coffee. I glance at him. No bruises that I can see, but his hair is messed somethin’ awful.

After his coffee is done, Juno turns and his eyes fall on Mistah Thief for what seems to be the first time. He pauses, and the look on his face is like the kind of look I get when I see the whole aisle of different kinds of salmon snacks in supermarkets. I resist the urge to roll my eyes again.

Mistah Steel puts his coffee down on the bench and Mistah Show-Off turns into him, a smirk on his face like that betrays that oh-so-innocent look he tried with me.

“Morning, Juno,” he purrs.

“Peter,” Juno says. He kisses him (these two just cannot keep their hands off each other, and it’s not like I mind Juno bein’ happy, but when it’s this kind of bein’ happy I’d much rather it was in private), and then his mouth goes near ‘Peter’’s ear, “You’ve, uh… got a little somethin’…”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about,” Mistah Long-legs says.

Juno pulls back to glare at him, maybe, but then the look melts off his face and he kisses him again, and again, and Mistah Thief makes a sound, and I have a feeling today is going to be one of those stay-in-my-own-quarters kind of days.

I sigh, and I hop off of the barstool, grabbing my coffee. I don’t even bother sayin’ goodbye, I have a feelin’ neither of them are listening.

Just as I reach the door, I hear Mistah Sharp say, “We’ve made poor Rita have to move—” and then I hear Juno say, “Don’t worry about her. Come here.” And I have a feeling I’ve made the right decision. The kitchen door closes behind me, and after a moment to erase everything I’ve seen and heard in the last five minutes outta my head, I breathe deeply out, and start making my way to Jet’s room.


End file.
